


Mourning After

by WandererRiha



Series: My Friend, Goodbye [3]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, M/M, My Friend Goodbye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 16:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: With Veld gone, Tseng and Elena re-evaluate their own lives, and find that life does, indeed, go on.





	Mourning After

“Elena?”

She looked up to see an uncharacteristically worried expression on Reno’s freckled face.

“Go with him? Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Sure,” she agreed, getting up from her desk and shoving her chair in. She’d give Tseng a few minutes head start. None of them truly expected the Chief to do anything regrettable, but the last twenty-four hours had arguably just won the title of ‘Worst Day Ever’. Tseng might not want a shoulder to cry on, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need one.

Elena didn’t tail him exactly. Yes, she kept him in sight, but she didn’t follow his exact path back to his apartment. She made several detours along the way for take-out and a couple of extra bottles of alcohol. Also coffee. Tseng never drank coffee, but he was going to have a roaring hangover later, and green tea just wasn’t quite the same.

There were sounds of life on the other side of his closed apartment door when she arrived; the television turned up just loud enough to function as background noise. Lightly, she knocked. It took a minute or two for Tseng to open the door. He wasn’t deep into his own stash, but she could tell he’d already had at least one drink.

“You put in a lot of overtime today,” Elena said, lifting the take-out bag by way of an explanation. “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Not really,” Tseng said, but took the bag from her anyway and stepped back, allowing her through the door. She set the bag with the liquor bottles on the little counter-bar-thing that separated the kitchen area from the living room. An open bottle of sake and a tumbler stood on the table in the dining corner.

“Drink?” he asked her, fetching another glass.

“Sure,” Elena said, looking into cupboards until she found two bowls. Tseng had been born in Wutai, but raised in Midgar. Consequently, the low-budget, greasy slop that Midgar called Wutaian food was not an affront to Tseng’s culinary and cultural sensibilities. If anything, it was his not-so-secret comfort food. Dumping noodles into a bowl, she set it and a pack of wrapped chopsticks down in front of him.

“I’m really not hungry,” he repeated, taking a seat at the table.

“I am,” Elena countered, sitting and slurping her own noodles. It was scandalously rude to eat in front of someone, but even more rude by Wutaian standards to refuse the food put in front of you. With a sigh, Tseng poked at his noodles for a moment before reluctantly putting a few into his mouth. He must have realized then how hungry he really was because he polished off the entire bowl in short order. Elena retrieved the takeout containers and set them on the table between them. Tseng poured a measure of sake into her glass, and glopped more food into his bowl.

She let him eat in silence, and kept her mouth shut as they washed and put away the dishes, even washing the takeout containers before tossing them in the recycle bin. Tseng was fastidious that way. There weren’t any leftovers to put in the refrigerator, so Tseng wandered over to the sofa and sat down. Although he tried to pay attention to the anchorman dictating the day’s news, she could tell none of it was percolating.

On this day in history, the world lost two of the best Turks to ever live, she thought sadly. Veld Dragoon, former director of the Turks and his long-time partner Vincent Valentine were found dead in their home late this afternoon. There were no signs of foul play; both died of natural causes. Director Dragoon is preceded in death by his wife and daughter who perished in the Kalm fire. Agent Valentine is predeceased by his father, celebrated academic Dr. Grimoire Valentine. Both were instrumental in preventing Meteor Fall as well as the defeat of Sephiroth and the liberation of Deepground. A private service for friends and fellow Turks will be held on Saturday. They were both seventy-four.

That was all that was going through Tseng’s mind right now. Cleaning up had taken a good twenty minutes or so. She’d give him a little longer to digest before breaking out the booze. Comfort food wasn’t comforting if you vomited it up later. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his suit, though he’d removed his jacket and tie. Aside from his workout clothes, and a handful of undercover missions, Elena had never seen him in anything else. She wasn’t sure Tseng even owned any street clothes. Shrugging out of her own jacket, she sat down leaving a respectful distance between them.

“I’m the Chief now,” he said rather blankly.

“You’ve been the Chief for twenty years,” Elena reminded him.

Tseng shook his head. “Veld was still alive. I might have been running things but...he was still the Chief. My Chief. He once told me that he’d never really felt like he was Chief in his own right until Tally died. Now I know what he meant.”

Reaching, she rubbed his shoulder with one hand.

“He was always there,” Tseng went on softly. “Protecting him meant he was protecting me. So long as he was alive, I’d always have someone to fall back on, somewhere to go for help, for answers. Even if you only count his years of active duty service, he still had the longest tenure of any Chief.”

“Bet you’ll top that.”

Very briefly, he cracked a smile. “I dunno…”

“I hope you do.”

He turned his head to look at her then. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe it was the booze, but she thought his cheeks looked a little pink.

“...thanks.”

She pretended to watch TV with him; Tseng flipping from one station to the next without spending much time on any single one. Eventually he settled on one of the all day news stations, the professional droning of the reporters creating a barrier of white noise between himself and the chaos inside his own head.

Elena opened the bottle and poured them each a few fingers.

“The king is dead,” Tseng said, clinking his glass against hers.

“Long live the king,” Elena replied, clinking in turn.

Tseng downed his glass in one go, but Elena sipped hers more slowly, and didn’t stop him whenever he reached to refill his own. He knew as much as she did why she was here: not just to keep him from eating his gun, but to help him mourn. He was fully, formally the Chief now, but even the Chief needed a little help now and again. Turks stuck together, and she’d stick by him until this first horrible night without his mentor was over.

Halfway through the bottle saw him leaning up against her. By the time it was empty, he’d slung an arm around her. The second bottle saw her pulled onto his lap, kissing and being kissed. He’d asked her out to dinner what felt like ages ago, but then there’d been Sephiroth, and Meteor, the Remnants, Deepground, and hundred other things that had just been more important. They were more than friends, had been for years. The entire office referred to them as “a thing”- whatever that meant. However, it seemed they were never going to get a break. Tseng was drunk, so this didn’t really count, but she certainly wasn’t going to argue.

Despite the heavy smell of alcohol on his breath, Tseng’s eyes were still clear, if bright and red from tears. He was blitzed, but not so completely plastered that he couldn’t think straight. Resting his forehead against hers, he let out a deep sigh.

“Would you go out with me?” he mumbled.

Elena blinked. “Huh?”

“Would you go out with me?” Tseng repeated, words loose but not slurred. “I asked you forever ago. We were going to go out to dinner and...we never did.”

“I brought dinner to you,” she told him, smiling and reaching to gently smooth his hair back with one hand.

“There is that,” he said. “When I am less of a drunken, sobbing mess, I’ll take you out to that expensive place Rufus likes. A real date, just like normal people.”

Elena smiled, amused, wishing she could believe him. She didn’t doubt his intentions, but did have deep reservations (ha ha) as to whether or not this would actually happen.

“A real date,” she agreed.

He fell to kissing her again, and Elena had to actively remind herself that she was here for moral support not...that. Ordinarily Tseng was very reserved, the embodiment of the perfect gentleman, but he was drunk. She couldn’t let it go that far, it wouldn’t be right. As much as she wanted him, she wanted him to want her, and not because he was drunk and grieving. She shouldn’t have worried. One minute he’d been nuzzling her throat, the next he was out cold, his head resting heavily on her shoulder. Elena allowed herself a sigh, and stretched her neck to kiss his forehead.

“Just like normal people…”

\---

She couldn’t feel her arm when Tseng finally woke up and crawled off her and into the bathroom. Trying to work some feeling back into her limbs, she got started on the coffee. She didn’t hear any sounds of retching, which was good, but he was still likely to have a raging hangover. By the time Tseng emerged from the bathroom red-eyed and groggy, the blinds were closed and a mug of black coffee and a tall glass of water were waiting on the table. Tseng took a grateful sip from the coffee first, making a face at the bitter taste before making himself drink about half the glass of water.

“Better?” she asked, laying a hand on his shoulder. Looking up at her, he offered her something close to a smile.

“Thanks.”

\---

There were flowers at her desk the next day. Elena smiled, touched, and commandeered the old thermos carafe that no one ever used in which to arrange them. Cissnei teased her about a secret admirer but Elena just smiled. There was still the funeral to get through. This was probably the last personal token she’d ever receive from him. She took a picture with her phone and saved it.

If she were honest, Elena didn’t remember terribly much of the joint funeral. The only thing that really stood out in her memory was Tseng, struggling to make a speech, tears cascading down his face unnoticed. She had wanted to reach out and take his hand, to get up and hug him close, but she couldn’t. Not there, not then. It had been a beautiful ceremony, the surviving Chief the most beautiful thing of all.

The text on her phone two weeks later made her blink:

'La Tableaux - 7pm

Wear the blue dress? ’

It was from Tseng. Looking over, she stared at him in undisguised disbelief. Tseng just smiled and turned his attention back to the mountain of paperwork on his desk. Trying- and failing- not to blush, Elena sat down and tried to concentrate on her own case backlog.

The blue dress was something she hadn’t worn in a while. Eyeing it, Elena hoped she could get into it. She’d bought it ages ago with no real intent behind the purchase except it had been time for a new dress. Zipping it up the back was a bit tricky, and proved the dress to be a little snug, but doable. Funny Tseng had requested it. Although it was a nice dress, and she’d paid good money for it at the time, it certainly wasn’t the flashiest thing she owned. However, it looked nice on her, and was comfortable, which was why she’d hung onto it.

She met Tseng at the restaurant a few minutes before seven. It was strange to see him in a suit that wasn’t blue, his long hair pulled back in a low que.

“You look beautiful,” he told her softly, and Elena had to look away, her face suddenly very warm. He offered her his arm, and she took it. The Maitre’d led them to a table near the far wall, set back a bit from the other diners. The entire rear wall was floor to ceiling windows. From their seat they could look down on Edge and New Midgar, the electric lights of the city providing a technicolored compliment to the white light of the stars above.

“Pretty fancy for a first date,” Elena commented as the waiter poured them each a glass of wine.

“The first, but not the last,” Tseng promised, clinking glasses. “Consider this compensation for all the times we never went out.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” she told him, smiling. “It’s the job. I was right there next to you the whole time. I know how it goes.”

“Yes you were,” he said fondly. “Things are different now. It’s not like I’ve got Old Man Shinra breathing down my neck. Rufus isn’t going to arbitrarily organize a hit on me or my people. I know being a Turk is a commitment, but it shouldn’t be one’s entire life. Even the Chief made time for a family.”

Elena nodded. The Chief- and that would always be Veld’s title, despite Tseng being director for the last twenty years- had had a wife and child before things had gone to hell. That had been the beginning of Shinra’s darkest time, the years when people had become afraid of Turks, and then disdainful. There were relationships aplenty in the office, but none of them serious- not white picket fence and 2.5 children serious, anyway. It was one of the reasons everyone thought they were a morally reprehensible bunch. Yes, they sometimes slept with each other, but it wasn’t like that. Often, the only family Turks had was other Turks. These were the people who loved you and kept you safe. They understood the Job, the Life, the way no one else could. Considering the dangers of the Turk life, who else could any of them ever hope to get close to?

“Things were different then,” she said with a shrug.

“I know, and it shouldn’t be like that,” Tseng went on. “We’ve let ourselves get too insular. I don’t want to destroy our little sub-culture, but I’d like to see us all relax a bit- and I know that sounds funny coming from me.”

Behind her hand, Elena giggled. “Hey, I’m not arguing. I’ve been trying to get you to relax for years.”

Tseng looked amused. “True. I’ll have to start taking your advice more seriously.”

Their food arrived then, and for a moment they ate in companionable silence. It was delicious, but Elena couldn’t help wondering what it cost. She didn’t trust any place that didn’t put prices on their menus. Tseng could afford it, certainly, but there was still that part of her that remembered growing up poor under the Plate in Old Midgar. There was a point at which something ceased to be a treat and simply became a ripoff.

“You remember the first time we had a meal together?” Tseng asked.

“Is this some kind of quiz?” she teased. “It was the stake-out. We had pizza. You gave me your pepperonis. Said you didn’t like them.”

Tseng smiled. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

“I have a long memory. There were a lot of long nights, a lot of take-out. They might not have been dates, but it was still time together.”

“Time well-spent,” Tseng agreed. “Almost twenty years on the job together.”

“Almost,” Elena agreed. “It doesn’t feel that long, does it?”

Tseng put down knife and fork and just looked at her for a while, his eyes wandering over her face with an almost longing look. “It didn’t until recently,” he said quietly. “After the funeral… It made me realize how long it’s really been, how much time had passed. I hadn’t realized how much of my life I’d given to the job, and that if I was going to do anything else, I’d better hurry up and do it.”

Elena nodded. “I know how you feel. Every group of new cadets makes me feel positively ancient, and yet I keep waiting for someone to discover that I’m not really an adult, I’ve just been pretending all this time.”

That made him laugh, and Elena smiled. Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his and held it.

“I want to thank you Elena, for being there. Not just for that first night alone, but for all the times you stuck by me. And not just because it was your job.”

“Yeah, well, someone had to look out for you,” she said, half modest, half teasing. “Besides, I had a crush on you for a long time.”

“...and you don’t now?” he asked. Something in his voice struck her heart; a note of vulnerability, of uncertainty that she wasn’t used to hearing from him.

“It stopped being a crush a long time ago,” she said softly, squeezing his hand, and had the slightly surreal experience of watching Tseng blush.

“Me too,” he said lowly. “At first...I didn’t want to seem like I was twisting your arm; asking you to do something you weren’t comfortable with. But that’s beside the point now. I don’t think of you as a subordinate; haven’t for a while.”

“Tseng…” Elena murmured, lowering her gaze even as she felt her face grow warm.

“I really like you, Elena,” he went on. “I hope you are still as fond of me as I have become of you?”

Elena smiled, and took his hand in both of hers. “Like I said,” she repeated, “it stopped being a crush a long time ago.”

\---

Neither of them owned a car. One, it was expensive, and two, what need did they have for one? Public transit was the preferred method of getting from Point A to Point B. However, it was a beautiful evening, so they walked hand-in-hand back to Elena’s apartment. It was one of the few buildings to have survived Meteor Fall; a venerable brick building with a storefront below and three more storeys stacked on top. Elena led him up to the second floor, and into her small apartment.

“It’s cute,” Tseng remarked upon stepping inside. The room was a far cry from his rather Spartan one-bedroom. Tseng’s apartment resembled nothing so much as a hotel room- the furniture neutral and unremarkable, and almost no personal touches anywhere except the bedroom. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought that it was the display model and that no one lived there. Elena’s by contrast was cheerful and cozy.

Her collection of furniture could best be described as eclectic, with throws and pillows placed just so on the sofa and chairs. A colorful braided rug softened the honey-colored wooden floor. Pictures hung on the walls, curtains draped the windows, and a vase of flowers stood on the table. The whole effect was slightly cluttered, but extremely cozy and inviting.

“I wasn’t really expecting company,” Elena apologized, sweeping a pile of mail off the table and into a basket. In the act of spiriting an empty mug into the sink, she stopped short as Tseng caught her wrist.

“It’s fine,” he assured her, drawing her close. “It can wait.”

He leaned forward, and Elena had to remind herself to breathe as his arms went around her and their lips met. This had been her dream for years, something she’d imagined countless times but had never truly thought would happen. She stretched to meet him, standing on her toes and twining her arms around his neck. Tseng stooped a bit more, the better to drag his lips along the side of her throat, to kiss the spot just behind her ear. There was still space between them and she closed it gladly, his hand on the small of her back all the encouragement she needed.

“I want you,” Tseng breathed into her ear. “Do you want me?”

“Since I was twenty-three,” she replied, and pulled him into the bedroom.

\---

Tseng was always the first to the office. His arrival signaled to those working the graveyard shift that it was time to go home and get some well-earned sleep. The rest of the day shift followed in increments depending on how they were assigned. Elena also worked the opening shift, but didn’t arrive until at least an hour later. The Chief had seemed in especially good spirits, particularly considering the emotional hell that had been last month. Instead of his usual Turk poker face, a mysterious little Mona Lisa smile kept tugging at the corners of his mouth. The funny part was he didn’t even seem to notice.

“What’s up with the boss?” Reno hissed across his desk to Rude. Rude, who hadn’t seemed to have noticed, though Reno knew full well that he had, glanced over at the Chief and shrugged.

“Hell if I know.”

Reno narrowed his eyes but said nothing, keeping his suspicions to himself. A few minutes later, Elena sat down at her desk, coffee in hand; a similar smile on her own face.

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Cissnei asked, taking her own seat across from Elena.

“It’s pumpkin spice season at the coffee shop again!” Elena said, grinning. The younger Turk smiled, amused, but maintained an air of skepticism. Although Elena loved her pumpkin coffee- for reasons Reno would never understand- he didn’t think that was it. Elena waited until Cissnei had lifted her own take-out coffee from the cardboard tray before taking the remaining cup- the string and tag of a tea bag dangling beneath the lid- over to Tseng’s desk. Reno watched her with narrowed eyes. There wasn’t anything unusual about her bringing the boss tea. However, something was definitely up.

“Thank you,” Tseng told her, a note of pleased surprise in his voice. Elena just smiled and leaned forward, briefly kissing his cheek before returning to her desk. Reno felt his lips part and his jaw drop as she walked away and took her seat.

“Oh. My. Gods.”

Rude looked up from his paperwork and smirked. “Pay up.”

Grumbling, Reno dug out his wallet.


End file.
